I must scribe the dream before it is no longer part of me

I am with Bobby – who is passed – at a countertop somewhere, maybe an airport lounge, looking over the racing form, I had just previously been reviewing the race with someone else , who also liked the 10, as Bobby did, and we agreed strongly on the 5 in the second, so I suggested a 10-5 double, which Bobby didn’t care for, and then my Dad – also passed – shows up and starts talking with Bobby, and then suddenly notices that I am there as well, and he is upset and asks why I’m not in Europe like I had told him, and I say that I was but I’ve returned, and I realize that’s impossible because it’s been less than a day since I told him and a return trip would have been most difficult, and my Dad is very disappointed in me as I stare at his face backlit by very strong light coming from the large pane of glass – a vista of glass behind him – and Bobby is upset and distances himself from me because he respects my Father very much, and so I leave, knowing that I have to make it to midtown Manhattan, and I can see the sign from the airport windows for lower Manhattan, with the road that leads there, but I can’t get there from here, and I ask someone how to get to the road, and they point to steps that lead to the street, so I descend, stopping to pee at a bathroom I see on the landing below, though not before having to search out an available urinal. I wash my hands thoroughly and continue to descend. When I get to the street, I join in with a throng of people also walking to the lower Manhattan exit, a huge green sign that looms on the horizon but seems to never get closer. To save time I think about cutting across the grass, but instead find it littered with insects and dead animals. So I stay on the path which now is covered with inches of soot, similar to the way it looked when I evacuated the morning of 9/11. Then I remember that I came with my car, and that will certainly be faster than walking. (To where I am not quite sure, but it is mid-town, not lower Manhattan that I need to get to). So I return to get my car and ask the attendant where is the entrance for mid-town and he says there isn’t one, only lower Manhattan, and I realize that my hopes are dashed as traffic going cross and uptown at this time of day is so heavy that it will take hours to get where I need to be. My friend Jack shows up – not passed – dressed looking like a character from Baywatch with a boat and tells me to hop into the cabin, he will take me. I get in and suddenly bright searchlights pierce the darkness of the cabin from behind where there is a yelling mob. I scream at Jack to floor it and he does, and instead of the boat taking off, Jack begins to ascend as if he is parasailing, up and away, at first large and looming like a Macy’s Day parade float, and then recedes till he is small and colorful and beautiful in the vast blue sky over the crystal clear emerald water that separates me from Manhattan.

Chagall 2020